


closing walls and the ticking clocks

by sleeplessmiles



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-21
Updated: 2014-10-21
Packaged: 2018-02-22 01:22:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2489240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessmiles/pseuds/sleeplessmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘It’s…’ May trailed off, unsure of how to broach the delicate subject. ‘Nat, Hydra’s using brainwashing.’</p><p>There was silence across the line for several moments, punctuated only by sporadic gunfire and Natasha’s soft, barely discernible breathing.</p><p>‘I’ll be there in two hours.’</p><p>--</p><p>May enlists some help to extract Jemma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	closing walls and the ticking clocks

**Author's Note:**

> One day, I will stop writing May extracting Jemma from her Hydra op. Today is not that day. 
> 
> There are a few mentions of brainwashing and some strong allusions to violence, because such is the nature of the beast.

_It’s perfectly acceptable to take the appropriate time to recover from a knock to the head, you know. I’d even encourage it. The whole thing can be a highly disorienting experience, and your brain needs a bit of a rest so that it can heal itself. Nobody expects you to be back to 100% capacity immediately._

That’s what Jemma would be telling her, if the girl were still here. May could almost hear her saying it. She  _had_ heard her say it, in fact, hundreds of times over – usually while trailing after Ward, trying to encourage him to have a rest as he brushed her off.

So May knew Jemma wouldn’t hold this one against her.

Which was just fine by her, really.

Melinda May was entirely capable of holding this against herself.

\-- 

She was heading down to the shooting range the next morning when her lagging brain finally,  _finally_  made the connection. 

Bakshi’s talk of compliance.

Agent 33’s babbling about the satisfaction of surrender.

Ward’s confirmation that Hydra used brainwashing for ‘high-profile’ individuals. 

_Agent 33 had been brainwashed._

Oh, God.

 _Jemma_.

May threw down her bag and _bolted_.

\-- 

Coulson was only just shuffling through some paperwork when May burst into his office without knocking. He was out of his seat the second he saw the stricken expression on her face.

‘What happened?’

‘We have to get her out.’ 

‘Wh–’ Comprehension dawned.

_Please, not Jemma._

‘What do you know?’ he all but demanded, furiously trying to figure out how Jemma could have contacted May, what she could have communicated to put that wild fear in May’s eyes.

‘Agent 33. She was brainwashed.’

He nodded slowly, not understanding. May’s face grew more frantic.

‘They know you’re director, they know Simmons was on your team, they use brainwashing on high profile SHIELD operatives – ’

‘– Oh, God.’ 

He felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his ankles.

‘We have to move  _now_ ,’ May insisted.

Yeah.

‘I’ll call the base in London. If no one’s scattered, they should get to the Simmons’ house within a few hours. Get Hunter, Trip, Skye, whoever’s up for it –’

‘– We can’t.’

What?

‘What?’

May sighed, gritted her teeth. ‘Phil, I want  _nothing_ more than to go in there and level them to the damn ground.  _Believe me._ ’

‘But?’

‘ _But,_  they have  _strike teams_ , Phil! We don’t have that kind of manpower. Our people are good, but I’m not risking them on this.’

‘Shouldn’t that be their choice?’

She shook her head, expression dark.

‘Not with this. It’s got to be our call. And I’m not putting anyone else at risk of,’ she swallowed, ‘ _that_.’

Her message went unspoken.

 _She won’t put anyone else at risk of brainwashing._  

He nodded, rubbing idly at one of his temples. ‘What are you suggesting, then?’

She drew herself up to her full height, lifted her chin.

He knew that look. There was no ‘suggestion’ about this. She wasn’t going to budge.

‘Phil. We have to call them in.’

Coulson sighed. He’d really been hoping to avoid this.

She was right, though. Of course she was.

‘Do it. I’ll call London.’ 

May nodded grimly.

\--

‘Romanoff.’

May could hear gunfire in the background, although Natasha identified herself in a perfectly composed tone. A man screamed horribly in the distance.

‘We need you here. Now.’

More gunfire.

‘What’s the op?’ 

‘Extraction.’

‘Of?’ she demanded, firing off a few more rounds.

May swallowed heavily, not even wanting to say it aloud, to validate it as the terrible truth that it was.

‘Jemma Simmons.’

‘The scientist?’ For the first time, there was the slightest inflection in Natasha’s voice.

‘It’s…’ May trailed off, unsure of how to broach the delicate subject. ‘Nat, Hydra’s using brainwashing.’

There was silence across the line for several moments, punctuated only by sporadic gunfire and Natasha’s soft, barely discernible breathing.

‘I’ll be there in two hours.’

\--

‘We’ll discuss this later,’ Natasha said upon entering Coulson’s office and seeing his mouth open to speak.

He frowned. ‘I have a really good explan–’

‘Phil.’ She pinned him with a hard gaze, but she was unable to keep trace amounts of hurt from seeping through. ‘I  _said_ , later.’

He nodded, backing down.

‘Now,’ she turned back to face May, ‘how are we going in?’

\--

Skye, Trip, and Lance had been idling by the armoury, packed and ready to go, for quite some time when May finally came striding in. Natasha Romanoff (which,  _wow_ , that totally hadn’t gotten any less surreal in the half hour since she’d arrived) was right beside her.

‘Trip,’ May barked out. ‘Suit up. We need you to pilot the quinjet while we’re inside the building.’ 

He swung the pre-packed bag at his feet onto his shoulder, took off at a jog towards the jet. ‘Copy that.’ 

And just like that, May fell silent, the two women proceeding to quietly shove an alarming amount of weaponry into their packs.

Uh, what the hell?

Skye looked across at Lance, who seemed just as confused.

‘Wait. That’s  _it_?’ she asked incredulously, at the same time that Lance burst out with a ‘ _Seriously?_ ’

May spared a quick glance for them, before returning to her packing. Romanoff was eying them curiously.

‘May,’ Skye began, stepping forward slightly. ‘You need us.’

She straightened up at that. ‘No, Skye. What I need is for you to stay here and help us get inside the building. Coulson will run you through what we need from you.’ 

Skye just shook her head, uncomprehending. Was she honestly supposed to just wait around here, doing nothing, while Simmons was in serious trouble?

Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

Bag now packed, May took off towards the quinjet. Skye trailed after her, intent to try again.

‘You have to let us come.’

‘Skye,’ May whirled back around to face her. The look on the older woman’s face stopped Skye dead in her tracks, alarming in its intensity.

‘I can’t –’ she cut herself off, seemed to take a calming breath. ‘I  _won’t_  put any of you at risk of this.’

Skye had known Lance was right on her heels, but she hadn’t even heard Fitz approaching from behind – not until his strangled voice cut over the conversation.

‘But you already put Jemma in there.’

Skye swung around to look at him. The despair in his voice was etched into his face, but it was more than that. 

It was his eyes.

Fitz was  _furious_.

He shook his head slightly, before continuing in a slightly softer voice.

‘So you can risk her, but nobody else?’

His jaw was set but there were tears brimming in his eyes, now. Skye turned back to May, unable to watch.

She’d never seen the older woman look so devastated.

‘Fitz, I  _promise you_. We will get her back.’

He just turned away, shaking his head and running both hands over his face.

Skye waited a moment, swallowing down the lump in her throat before trying one last time.

‘We just want to help,’ Skye intoned quietly. ‘May.  _Please_.’

May sighed, shook her head. 

‘Just, get us in, and be ready to help out when we get back.’

Her eyes followed Fitz’s retreat, brimming with sadness, before meeting Skye’s gaze once more. 

The message was clear.

 _Look after him_.

Skye pursed her lips – God, she  _hated_  this – but nodded anyway.

‘Copy that,’ she mumbled.

She felt a deep unease settle in the pit of her stomach, heavy and immovable, as the quinjet lifted up off the ground.

 _Please,_ please _don’t be too late._

\--

Infiltrating the actual facility went without a hitch; with Skye’s help, they quite literally walked in through the front door.

(Natasha made a mental note to look into this girl later on. That was an impressive hack.)

They hit their first problem when they got to Jemma’s lab, only to find it devoid of the petite scientist in question.

‘Alright,’ May was saying, visibly forcing herself to adopt a calm she clearly wasn’t feeling. ‘So we search the other floors. I’ll work my way up, you work your way down.’

‘Copy that,’ Natasha replied. She watched May run away down the hall, and she almost didn’t say anything, but –

‘Melinda.’

May stiffened, turned back around.

Natasha hesitated. ‘It could be bad.’

‘We’ll deal with it.’

‘I’m just making sure –’

‘– I have to get her out, Natasha,’ May cut across, expression fierce. Natasha could see the desperation in her eyes, even across the distance separating them. She was  _alight_ with it.

‘I  _have_  to.’

Natasha pursed her lips at that, nodded once.

She could relate.

The first four floors Natasha searched came up empty, apart from a few easily dispersed armed guards and an assortment of other labs (the way the occupants stared at her, wide-eyed and silent, was incredibly disconcerting, and she tried not to focus on how many others might have been brainwashed).

On her fifth floor, she encountered a small strike unit.

(She dealt with them pretty swiftly.)

On her sixth floor, she hit pay dirt.

The young scientist was strapped to an upright board, eyelids held open to force her to watch a series of patterns. She was whimpering slightly.

Natasha swore under her breath, infinitely glad it hadn’t been May who’d made the discovery.

The figure standing next to Jemma turned around at the sudden interruption, face adopting a look of recognition just as Natasha herself placed his face.

Bakshi.

That piece of –

As he opened his mouth to speak, she shot him twice in the shoulder, striding briskly across the room towards him. He took a wild swing at her with his other arm; she blocked it easily, catching his cheek in a nasty left hook before sweeping his feet out from underneath him.

He went down.  _Hard_.

Moving quickly, she ziptied his hands to a railing, his ankles to each other, before rushing over to where Jemma was strapped in.

The girl’s face was tear-stained.

_God, she was so young._

Natasha felt a now-familiar surge of rage at the whole situation; she let it seep into her limbs, into her very cells, as she busily set about releasing Jemma from her restraints.

‘Surprised to see you’re still alive, Miss Romanoff,’ Bakshi sneered, breathing heavily through the pain. ‘Last I heard, half of the free world was hunting you down.’

‘Got an issue with seeing?’ she shot back, grappling with the last hand restraint. ‘Because I can fix that up for you.’

Jemma, now freed, stumbled away from the board, doubling over and trying to catch her breath.

Taking a quick look around the device, Natasha was unable to find an off switch for the screen. With a shrug, she emptied a few rounds into the projector.

Yep. That’ll do it.

She turned back to Jemma, who flinched instinctively away.

(She made a mental note to gentle her movements.)

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes, I’m – it hasn’t been long enough. For it to take, I mean,’ the girl replied disjointedly, idly rubbing at her wrists. She staggered backwards then, leaning against the wall for support.

Bakshi’s expression seemed to confirm Jemma’s words.

Satisfied, Natasha radioed it in. ‘May, I’ve got her. 12th floor, room 13.’

‘Is she alright?’ came May’s frantic reply.

‘She’ll be fine, but she could use a familiar face.’ Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Natasha turned to find Jemma edging along the wall towards the little table. Finding Natasha’s eyes on her, she lunged the last little distance to the table, grabbing –

– a cattle prod.

Well. That was worrying.

‘I’m on my way.’

Now that Jemma was fully upright, Natasha could see that the girl was heavily favouring her right side.

That’s when it fell into place.

They’d taken her down with the damn cattle prod she now held in her hand. Like she was an animal.

 _Why was it still in the room? How much had they used it_ after _taking her down?_

Natasha took a step forward. Jemma wildly brandished the cattle prod at her.

‘Stay back!’

‘Jemma,’ Natasha began slowly, putting her hands up in an attempt to appear less threatening.

‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Natas–’

‘No, who are you  _really_?’ Jemma was shaking uncontrollably, but she still flexed her fingers around the cattle prod, defiantly holding it out. 

Natasha had no doubt she could take her down. The girl was injured and untrained. She wasn’t worried about that.

What  _did_  worry her, immensely, was the unbridled fear on Jemma’s face. The wildness in her eyes.

And it was all directed at Natasha.

This wasn’t brainwashing. This was genuine fear.

_What had they told her?_

May’s voice crackled across the comms. ‘Nat, what’s happening?’

Ignoring her, Natasha took a slow step towards Jemma. The girl was a scientist. Scientists needed to hear the facts. She could give her that.

‘I’m Natasha Romanoff,’ she intoned calmly. ‘I’m here with Melinda May. We’re your extraction team.’ 

The girl had tears streaking down her cheeks once more. She was shaking her head repeatedly.

And she didn’t lower her arm. Not even a little bit.

(Girl was a  _fighter._ )

‘Melinda May is dead,’ she finally replied, voice clinically detached. ‘They showed me her body.’ 

_Oh._

'I'm only going to ask once more. Who do you work for?’

\--

May wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting when she’d burst into the room, but she was positive it wasn’t Jemma brandishing a cattle prod at the Black Widow.

(Later, she’d remember the surge of pride that had accompanied the other emotions springing to life in her chest at that. Even Natasha had looked faintly impressed, which was no mean feat.

Much, much later, though.)

She quickly took in the rest of the room –  _Bakshi_ , of course, she’d kill that son of a bitch – before settling back on Jemma.

Jemma stared at May, eyes wide with horror. There was naked fear etched into her face.

_What did they do to you?_

May looked to Natasha – for explanation, for reassurance.

For anything. 

‘She’s fine, she’s just a little disoriented.’ 

Jemma was shaking her head now, over and over.

‘No. You’re  _dead_. They showed me your body.’

Her body? But she –

_Oh._

_Oh,_ God _. Agent 33’s body. They must have –_  

‘Jemma, I’m fine. I’m here,’ She walked across the room slowly, careful not to move too suddenly. ‘It’s really me. See?’

‘I saw your  _body_ ,’ Jemma reiterated, breath hitching on a quiet sob.

‘Jem –’

‘– Who do you work for?’ she demanded, pivoting to point the prod at May, now. May felt her stomach drop at the hard look in Jemma’s eyes. ‘What do you want from me?’

(Up close, May could better see the physical toll the ordeal had taken on the girl. Judging by the way she was standing, she’d sustained some sort of injury to her right side. There were dark imprints on her face, and there was a nasty gash at her hairline that was slowly seeping blood. All of the colour had run out of her face.

May wasn’t sure she believed in the idea of souls, but she was suddenly sure that the ache in her stomach could belong to nothing else.)

‘They’re not who they say they are, Jemma,’ Bakshi insisted from his place on the ground. ‘Don’t believe a word.’

Natasha calmly lifted a foot to his shoulder, pressing down hard on the bullet wound. The sound Bakshi made in response was almost inhuman.

Jemma swung around to point her weapon at Natasha, who only shrugged. ‘Believe whoever you want. We weren’t the ones trying to brainwash you.’

‘The body you saw?’ May began, trying desperately to reason with her. Jemma whirled back to point the prod at her again. ‘She was a brainwashed ex-SHIELD agent. They sent her to kill us. She was wearing a face morph mask, that’s why she looked like me.’

For the first time, Jemma seemed to falter a little, brow creasing as she considered this.

_She was still reasoning. Good._

‘How –’ she cut herself off with a wince, opposite arm coming up to wrap across her abdomen. May’s fingers were twitching with the effort it took to stop herself from reaching out. ‘How do I know it’s not the other way around? That you’re not someone else wearing one of those masks, pretending to be May?’

She needed to give Jemma something she couldn’t refute. Hard evidence. She’d seen a body, now May had to give her something even more conclusive.

Stronger evidence. That’s what would sway Jemma Simmons, and nothing less.

May almost smiled when she realised what to say.

(Almost.)

‘Do you remember what I said to you the night before you left?’ she began earnestly. Jemma seemed to freeze, her whole body stiffening. ‘When I dropped by your bunk?’ 

Jemma stared for a long time, before her face seemed to crumple and she nodded slightly.

‘Do  _you_ , though?’ she challenged in a small voice, jutting her chin out.

‘I do,’ May replied, nodding her head as encouragingly as possible. ‘We went over the self-defense I taught you, and then I reminded you that it was a last resort only – that your plan of attack was to avoid all confrontation. You run as soon as you are able. You  _get out_ , and you call us.’

Jemma’s lip trembled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. May took it as a positive sign, forged on.

‘And then you asked, “What if you can’t get to me in time?” And I told you, I _promised_  you, that I –’

‘– I will  _always_  get to you in time,’ Jemma finished, voice barely above a whisper.

May nodded, feeling the tension in her chest release a little at that.

‘Yeah.’

She took another step closer, easily within range of the cattle prod now.

‘Here I am, Jemma,’ she finished, voice gentle. ‘I got here.’

Jemma released a strangled sob at that, cupping a hand over her mouth in horror at the sound. She nodded once, twice, before taking a deep, rattling breath and shakily lowering the cattle prod – bit by bit – eventually dropping it to the ground. The dull clatter seemed to reverberate around the room with a satisfying finality.

_Oh, thank God._

‘Welcome back, Jemma Simmons,’ Natasha deadpanned, smirking slightly down at Bakshi. 

But Jemma wouldn’t take her eyes off of May’s.

‘Is the team… are they alive?

‘They are,’ May confirmed, still breathless with relief. Jemma seemed to share the sentiment, slumping back against the wall. ‘Hydra tried to kill them, but Fitz saved everyone.’

‘Fitz,’ she sighed, a tired smile creeping onto her face. ‘He saved them?’

Despite the situation, May couldn’t stop her answering smile at the proud wonder in Jemma’s eyes.

And then Jemma flinched as though someone had hit her, curling a hand protectively over abdomen. May surged forward – because she  _could_  now, _finally_  – looping an arm gently around her waist and propping the girl up against her side as best she could.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Jemma breathed, face contorted with pain. She slung an arm over May’s shoulder. ‘I wanted to believe you.’

‘I know, it’s alright. It’s all over now.’ She continued murmuring reassuring words as she slowly guided Jemma towards the door. Progress was slow, with Jemma injured as she was.

This did not bode well for their extraction. May gritted her teeth against the thought.

‘I thought there was no one left to rescue me,’ Jemma admitted after a while, soft enough that only May could hear.

May’s heart broke at that, at the thought of Jemma strapped to a machine, believing all her friends dead.

Resigned to her fate.

Completely devoid of all hope.

She would not come back easily from this one, May realised with a pang. But she’d get through it. If it was the last thing May did, she would get Jemma through it.

‘Hey,’ May began gently, ‘look at me.’ She did. ‘There will always be someone, okay?  _Always_. We don’t abandon our own, Jemma.’

Then, quieter, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?’

The girl nodded slightly, eyes still tear-filled, before wincing a little. May glanced back over at Natasha.

‘Nat, we need to get her medical attention. Where the hell is Barton?’

‘Dead, probably,’ came the too-smug reply from Bakshi. Natasha aimed a vicious kick at his ribs for his efforts. May was suddenly grateful for Jemma’s slight weight against her side; nothing would have stopped her from immediately killing this man otherwise.

(It was one thing to torture Melinda May. It was another thing  _entirely_  to mess with Melinda May’s people.)

Natasha didn’t dignify Bakshi’s remark with a verbal response, choosing instead to calmly crouch down in front of him and level him with an appraising expression. To the untrained eye, her face would seem a blank slate, giving away no emotion whatsoever.

It certainly seemed that way to Bakshi, anyway, who had fallen silent (and who was struggling, in vain, to free his hands from their restraints).

But May had seen that expression before. She could see the sheer fury behind the façade.

This would be the last they saw of Bakshi.

Clint chose that moment to burst through the door, panting heavily as he slammed the door shut with his body. He quickly surveyed the room before turning to Natasha, both eyebrows raised.

‘You weren’t kidding about how many strike teams were Hydra.’

She didn’t take her eyes off Bakshi, still regarding him with her cool, evaluative gaze. ‘Does that seem like something I’d joke about?’

‘Well I don’t  _know_ , Nat, you’ve got a pretty interesting sense of humour.’

‘Clint.’

‘Yeah.’ He took a deep breath, turning to Jemma and May. ‘Melinda, a pleasure as always. And you must be Dr. Simmons, right?’

At her tremulous nod, he grinned broadly.

‘The tiny scientist who shot Sitwell! I’m a big fan.’

Jemma huffed out something that might have been a laugh, only it sounded a little too indignant.

And pained.

‘Clint. Just get them out.’

‘You’re not coming?’

Natasha straightened out of her crouch and turned to look at them. ‘I’ll follow. I just need a few moments alone with Mr Bakshi here.’ She walked across to where Jemma had been standing moments before, picking up the discarded cattle prod and flicking the switch. It hummed to life.

When she looked up again, the expression on her face was downright terrifying.

Truly predatory.

‘It should only take a couple of minutes.’

May exchanged a quick look with Barton. He made a face.  _What can you do?_

Then, apropos of nothing, Jemma leaned her head to rest on May’s shoulder.

Uh oh. That wasn’t good.

‘Jemma?’ She jostled her shoulder slightly to get the girl’s attention. Jemma exhaled unsteadily.

‘I’m alright, I promise,’ she replied, impossibly quiet. ‘Just a little sleepy. Don’t worry about me.’

_Shit._

‘She’s struggling. We need to go,  _now_.’

Clint nodded. ‘Agent Triplett has the quinjet waiting at the end of the hall. I’ve already, ah, dealt with the window. I’ve got people holding up the strike teams on other floors, but a few might still sneak through. So I’ll cover you, and then we can just jump in. Sound good?’

Jemma nodded from her position against May’s shoulder.

 _Jesus, Jemma_.

‘Sounds good.’ May tightened her arm around Jemma’s waist, grabbing a pistol with her other hand.

As Clint darted out to clear the hallway, Nat’s soft, eerily calm voice filtered across the room to where they were waiting.

‘I wonder, Mr. Bakshi, if you’re familiar with some friends of mine who aren’t… overly fond, shall we say, of brainwashing.’

Jemma made a pained sound as May guided her out into the hall on Clint’s signal.

They heard a faint buzzing sound, followed by a tortured bellow.

And May had never been one for torture, but she couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction she felt at the sound.

\--

Her abdomen didn’t even hurt anymore, really.

Trip had given her some kind of painkiller – he’d refused to tell her what it was, but she’d have to ask him about it later. It really was rather good.

Maybe it was that it was combined with whatever Bakshi had given her earlier. _That_  had been less good.

But now?

She felt  _fine._

She just needed to communicate this to May somehow. May looked so worried. She’d been hovering beside her for the entire quinjet ride. Agent Romanoff kept coming up to May and murmuring something to her, but it didn’t help the expression on May’s face.

‘‘S alright, Agent May,’ Jemma smiled up at her, reaching out to try to pat her arm in reassurance. May grabbed the wayward hand, squeezing it tight.

She still looked so worried. Why did she look like that?

‘Just hold on a little longer,’ May was saying. ‘Can you do that for me? Just a bit longer.’

 _Of course I can_ , she replied, indignant.

May was still looking at her with a heartbroken expression.

Hmm. Maybe she’d only thought that last bit.

She must have closed her eyes for a few moments, she supposed, because next thing she knew she was being scooped up into someone’s arms – someone broad, muscular.  _Agent Triplett_ , she realised idly. That was definitely his cologne. She remembered that he always smelled nice.

It was nice. It was  _familiar_. 

She’d missed this.

And then suddenly, with absolutely no warning, light seemed to flood in from everywhere. Ugh! Was that strictly necessary? She scrunched her eyes shut, groaned softly. 

It was so bright! And there were so many voices, so many people. More than were there before, that much she could tell. People were yelling. How long had people been yelling? Phrases like  _stand back_ , and  _is she alright_ , and  _med bay_.

Med bay.

Did they want her to patch someone up? Had someone been hurt, getting her out? Oh gosh, that was a terrible thought. She could probably sit up and do a few sutures, if they needed her to.

Honestly, it didn’t even hurt anymore.

She felt herself jostled for a moment, passed off into someone else’s arms. He had… an even broader chest?  _That_  was unexpected. Was it Ward? Had they put Ward back on the team?

It must be Ward, that was the only reasonable explanation.

Oh, but he must be Nice Ward again! Nice Ward did things like jump out of a plane to save her life. She liked Nice Ward.

The voice rumbling through his chest  _did_  sound quite a bit deeper than Ward’s, however. He didn’t really smell like Ward, either.

She should probably check.

She struggled to open her eyes for a moment, before giving up. It was much easier keeping them closed, all things considered. Why did everything have to be so bright?

Actually, come to think of it, she felt a little nauseous.

And then, she heard it: the Scottish accent she’d been quietly straining to hear since the overwhelming cacophony began.

‘ _Jemma? Jemma! I’m here. Oh, God. I’m here, Jem. It’s alright. I’m here._ ’

There was the slightest pressure on her hand, and she knew it was from him.

She didn’t even have to see him.

She just knew. 

She always knew.

‘Fitz!’ she sighed happily.

He was  _alive_. 

Armed with the knowledge that he was  _here_ , the certainty that Fitz could take over the thinking for a while, she finally succumbed, riding the overwhelming wave of relief into the beckoning darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> This is for both Ali and Tuna, who had to listen to me yell about this an awful lot as I wrote it. Thanks for sticking around.


End file.
